


Nightingale

by Saucery



Category: The Bodyguard (1992), The Eagle | The Eagle of the Ninth (2011)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Dance, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Movie Fusion, Assassins & Hitmen, BAMF!Marcus, Bodyguard, Crack, Dancing, Danger Will Robinson, Death Threats, Dirty Talk, Discipline, Don't Ask, Drama, Enfant Terrible, Esca Mac Cunoval is Whitney Houston, Esca is Pretty and Inexplicably Young, Esca is a Total Brat, Fame, Flirting, Geniuses, Guilt, M/M, Marcus Aquila is Kevin Costner, Marcus Waxes Lyrical About Esca, Marcus is a Caveman, Marcus is a Handy Prop, Marcus!POV, Master/Servant, Me Tarzan You Jane, Meltdown, Non-Canonical Age Difference, Obedience, Prodigies, Restraint, Romance, Rough Sex, Seduction, Self-Denial, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Silence Kink, Silent Protagonist, Smut, Suit Porn, Suits, The Author Has Weird Kinks, Weapons, Weapons Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-04
Updated: 2014-07-04
Packaged: 2018-02-07 10:02:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1894884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saucery/pseuds/Saucery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A birthday present for <b>phantomjam</b>, who once made the mistake of saying:</p><p>"I have this DESPERATE CRAVING for fic where Esca is a feisty and insanely talented dancer and Marcus, well, whatever, and then they have lots of sex or something. Come on, it would be perfect! Esca would be ridiculously flexible and Marcus would want to hit it so bad he could barely see straight. There would be the requisite amount of antagonism, angst and sexually-charged eye contact, and everyone would be happy! This, from the bottom of my heart, is what I want from life right now."</p><p>You got it, babe.</p><p>This could, technically, be considered a fusion with the 1992 film, <i>The Bodyguard</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nightingale

**Author's Note:**

  * For [phantomjam](https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantomjam/gifts).



* * *

 

"Oh, god, no. Are they out to bedevil me with boredom?" Esca leaned against the window and sighed. "What do you think, Mister Strong and Silent?"

Marcus, as usual, didn't say anything. It wasn't his job to say anything. He only moved forward, pulled the curtain across the window, and gently pushed Esca back. Away from it.

"No one's going to shoot me through a pane of glass, don't be ridiculous."

Well, yes, likely not, but the death threats had been both prolific and creative.

"You know what I need?" Esca tapped his foot, head tilting as he caught the whiff of some melody that only he could hear. His eyes widened, suddenly, as did his lips - transforming from a pout into a grin with an alacrity that was, despite everything, still shocking. Childlike. "What I need," said Esca, face lit with intent, "is a _partner_."

Marcus - didn't step back. His courage, really, ought to have been lauded; as it was, it was a mere unremarked-on necessity. His contract specified that he not engage in communication with the client, but it also stipulated that were a response commanded, he would, if the environment were secure enough, be compelled to obey.

Esca knew that, of course. The brat knew everything. "Come here, Marcus."

That triumphant little curl to his mouth -

"That _is_ an order."

Marcus closed his eyes. Opened them. Stepped forward.

"Good boy. You really are like a robot, aren't you? Do you have buttons? Will you let me push them?"

Marcus looked down at him: the tousled hair; the upturned, shamelessly charming face; the strange, daemonic smile, quicksilver and sharp. Marcus might very well cut himself on it. Many others certainly had. A great many, one of whom was almost definitely the one presently occupied with penning bizarrely intricate predictions of death and lurid destruction for the world-famous dancer, Esca, whose every limb and eyelash was worth more in terms of insurance and potential proceeds than Marcus's life - poor thing that it was - could ever be.

"Still won't talk to me? Well, no matter. Put your hand where it counts."

Marcus put his hand on Esca's hip - and shifted it, when Esca sighed impatiently, and shifted it again, under force, when Esca just reached down and grabbed it and positioned it where he wanted it - precisely on the practically non-existent dip of his waist. The boy was whipcord-thin. More a strip of metal than a knife. Marcus - Marcus had to stop comparing him to weaponry. Had to quash the urge to handle, to compare, to reach for his own knives, tucked into their slim sheaths within his suit and in his sleeves. He had to - had to -

"What are you, stupid? How many times do I have to show you? The other arm, now, around my back." A pause, as Marcus complied. "Good."

The open face had become stern, again, as it always did whenever work was concerned. And for Esca, this always was work, even - or especially - at its most blissful.

"Don't move," said Esca. " _I'll_ move."

And then -

And then he moved.

No, he _danced_ , within the circle of Marcus's arms, testing himself against them, bending and flexing in ways that defied human comprehension or logic or even, it seemed, the laws of physics.

Esca barely touched him, once he started moving - only slight brushes that felt as insubstantial as the brushes of wings against the wall of a cage - the cage that Marcus was, and wasn't this a scene from Esca's next performance, based on that fable, what was it, "The Nightingale"?

It scarcely seemed possible, that so much movement should be possible within such strict confines, for there to be such bends and twists and lifts of muscle, that Esca's leg should rise and twine about Marcus's hip and yet not touch it, not disturb a single pleat on Marcus's trousers, that Esca's arms should curve above and away like twinned wings, and then settle around Marcus's neck, once again without touching it, without -

Oh, those fingers _hovered_ , and Marcus felt them as keenly as weapons pointed at his throat.

But Esca's face was calm, and focused, as the face of one in a very deep sleep, or one that was thoroughly awake.

"Good," said Esca, many minutes later, and Marcus returned to himself with a start, realizing with a sort of dull panic that he'd lost track of time - mission-time - and that, by his slipped count, it could have been anywhere between sixteen and eighteen minutes since Esca had first asked him to step forward.

Unacceptable.

"Very good," breathed Esca, and smiled up at him again, and Marcus - Marcus glowered.

"I know that look. It's the look that promises grievous bodily harm. Except that you can't do anything to me, can you?" Esca's eyes turned knowing. "Unless you'd like to try?"

Marcus began to move away.

"Stop. Just - " A frustrated sigh, like this was all somehow Marcus's fault. The boy's lips were parted; he was only slightly out of breath. After all that. After - "What is your problem? I'd almost think you didn't like me - "

Marcus growled.

Esca... actually looked delighted. "Did you just - "

Marcus moved _away_ -

"Stop."

He stopped. His own breath had no reason whatsoever to be labored, so he calmed it, and lifted his hand to his holster, the one at his waist, in which he kept his second-favorite firearm.

"God, you look like you're going to shoot me."

_And you probably shouldn't look so thrilled at the prospect._

"I could practically hear you thinking, there. You don't really need to say much, do you?"

No. He didn't. He let his eyes wander, again, let them comfort themselves in the innocuity of the small overhead chandelier (clear of bugs), and the door (alarmed), and the curtains (drawn). He relaxed.

"Mm. Aren't you the Universal Soldier. I like that, by the way. Most people can't stand still when I - I don't know, it's like they just _can't_ , or they get nervous or something..."

Nervous? Was not the word for it.

"Did you - did you just _smile_?"

No.

"You _did_. Although it looked really freaky on your face. Just saying."

Well, he wasn't in this job for the compliments. And yet, it did not escape his notice that while Esca commanded him to do many things - mostly involving standing like an oak around which Esca would dance, like some sort of particularly flexible creeper - he never commanded Marcus to speak, or to be polite, or to smile.

Others had. Most people couldn't tolerate his silence, his stillness. Just as most people couldn't tolerate Esca's restlessness.

It... it had a certain symmetry. A fearful symmetry, even.

"You're thinking thoughts." Esca came up to him again, and this time, did touch him, his fingers brushing Marcus's nape.

It would do no good to flinch. So he... didn't.

"What are you thinking?" Esca's hand stroked downwards, lightly, over his shoulder and down to his arm, over the sleeve of the suit and approximately three centimeters of cloth-and-sheath above the fourth blade. And now, Marcus _did_ tense, and Esca's eyes narrowed, like a hunting dog's, when it had caught the scent. "Well, you don't have to answer me." He leaned closer. "I can tell."

Marcus - Marcus had been commanded not to move. He ought to move.

He _should_ move - away, to a safe place, where he would be safe, where Esca would be safe - from _him_ -

Esca kissed him.

It -

It was not a kiss.

It was much more than a kiss.

It was a flare, a slow, sweet build of a flare, like the first heat that warmed one's fingertips when one was stranded in a postwar Russian dugout and had spent the better part of an hour digging around in the chilling snow for anything remotely resembling a flint. It slow, and it was sharp, lancing into the depths of Marcus and sending a strange shudder through him that made Esca moan, that made him press closer, all teeth and hunger and painful heat - toxic and - and fucking _deadly_ \- distractions could not be afforded, distraction was _death_ -

"No," someone said, and Marcus realized a few moments later that it was him, that he had, in fact, moved away, and that Esca was left swaying, staring at him, flushed and panting and incredulous.

"What? You just - you just _talked_ , oh, god, your voice, it's so - " Esca shook his head, laughed disbelievingly, and reached out -

Dangerous -

"Marcus."

And Marcus withdrew another step.

Esca let his hand fall. He was smiling, again, but it was a foreign sort of smile, something ill-fitting and ill-suited, some creature of a midnight realm that did not belong on this boy, who was all spring, all agitation. "Marcus. You're being ridiculous."

Yes. He was.

"But you're not going to listen to me, are you?"

No.

"Don't you do this with everyone else? All your - you've got to have had clients who asked for this, who _commanded_ it - "

Esca did not command it. Esca was - Esca was better than that.

The realization was horrifying, not only for itself but for the fact that Marcus had dared to have a value judgment at all, that he had even thought to place one client above another, above _all_ others.

"Didn't you go along with them?"

Yes, he did. But he had been able to, without being distracted, without being compromised, without being reminded of warmth when warmth was sorely needed.

No.

"Look at me."

Marcus looked at him.

Esca was beautiful. He was surreal, and tempting, and damned. Continuously at risk. A nightingale in a cage.

His shirt was clinging to him. His _sweat_ was clinging to him, glimmering in the hollow of his throat -

"Tell my why. Why you won't. With me." Esca's fists clenched, and unclenched, and his face was a jagged mask, lovely and carved from some arcane stone. "When it's obvious that you want me."

And that - that was precisely why.

Esca seemed to understand it at the very same moment, the way he understood everything about Marcus. His jaw dropped. "Well, shit." He was staring at Marcus again. "That's - so your not touching me, is that supposed to be a compliment? Well, fuck that. No, let me do one better. Fuck _me_."

This time, Marcus did flinch.

"What, did that scare you? Don't pull the monk routine. I know that you want, and I know you can _take_ , fuck, that time you got me away from the shooter you practically picked me up in one _arm_ \- you could just - "

"Esca." He... he said it. The boy's name. And he meant for it to come out as something quelling, something calming, but instead it came out fraught, and heavy, more like a threat than a promise, more like a gauntlet forced upon a mouth, and Esca -

Esca's knees actually gave way, a little, before he steadied himself. His eyes were blank, shocked, dark, and he looked - "Fuck. Say that again, Marcus, just - fuck me, I want you _in_ me, I want - "

No.

"Don't look at me like that, damn it, it's not like I'm going to kill you - "

He _would_.

"I want. I want it so much, I can't - you're so - and you're right, the bastard pulling this latest string of really-not-awesome pranks is probably some guy I did before, I know you think that and you're probably right, but it doesn't - doesn't change that I want you, Marcus, so bad I can fucking _taste_ it - "

Stop...

"I see you standing around in your suit and I just want to suck you off. Sometimes I think about how many fucking knives you're carrying around on you to hurt people with, and if you'd ever - if you'd ever let me count them, if you'd ever hurt _me_ with them - "

Marcus groaned. He felt something give way, within him, crumbling from some terrifying height, and the fall blurred everything around him, for a moment, speed and motion and the feel of two thin, frighteningly fragile wrists in his hands - and he was holding Esca, pinning him, and perhaps it was to a wall or perhaps it was to a floor, Marcus didn't know and didn't care.

"I'll hurt you," he said, and Esca shivered, and smiled, and it was his true smile, again, his trickster-smile, mischievous and shielding something that might have been fear.

Marcus didn't care about the fear. He couldn't, not now, not when -

Not when Esca was kissing him, or perhaps he was kissing Esca, and the winter-flare was burning him up, devouring him, swift as a scrap of paper in a bonfire, classified instructions and codes going up in smoke.

He was breaking, he was -

He'd break the boy, he'd almost certainly -

"Do - do it. Marcus, _do it_ \- "

And maybe he'd said that out loud. Esca was bare, his shirt gone the way of his trousers, and the slide of Marcus's suit against Esca's skin made a sound of susurration that was as obscene as the plush give of Esca's mouth, parted around Marcus's fingers, wet and soft and asking, a place of heat and relentless shelter, for shelter could be relentless, too.

Esca tossed his head when Marcus slid those fingers out, and down, along Esca's throat and across his belly, warm and trembling under the weight of Marcus's hand. He pressed, exactly where a blade would sink in, if he aimed for a quick death - and then moved his hand again, across the slick, stubborn jut of the boy's erection - the touch made Esca whimper, arch, keen - and further still, across the treacherous slope of a young thigh, taut and quivering, and downwards again, to where he needed it, to where Esca needed it.

"Don't - don't make me wait. Marcus, don't - "

He wouldn't. He _couldn't_ -

Esca was sobbing, choked, stuttered exhalations of breath that it took Marcus a second - several seconds - to realize were in the same rhythm as his fingers, the same rhythm as Marcus's heart, thudding and harsh and savage.

He had to slow down. Had to prepare Esca gently, properly, not -

Gods, the boy was so tight, so sweet, so _his_ , only his.

What was he doing? What -

"P-please..."

Esca's eyes were so wide, so wet and so full. "Oh. Oh, god, you're - fuck me, _fuck_ me, please, Marcus."

"Esca," he said, and heard his own voice come out ragged and raw, maddened and strange. "I'll hurt you," he repeated, because it was true, but Esca only gasped and pulled him down again, and murmured into his mouth:

"No, you won't."

The boy was a liar, of course he was, because Marcus did.

Hurt him.

And Esca broke free, beneath him, not free from Marcus but from _himself_ , and danced.

 

* * *

**fin.**

 

**Author's Note:**

> Like my writing? Want updates? Follow me on [Tumblr](http://saucefactory.tumblr.com/)!


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